I'm Free In My Exile
by jewelledhunter
Summary: Faramir ponders his family life and how he would never receive his father's love, even as he is drawn back from death by Aragorn. Oneshot.


"_I'm free in my exile, I'm free…..to forget."-_Heather Dale, "Exile"

AN: I tried to be Tolkienesque. Review, please, and tell me how have I done?

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"It depends on the manner of your return," my father said coldly. I raised my head and left.

How long had I been in exile! As a Ranger of Ithilien, I did not have to see my father. Or rather, my father would not have to see me and be ashamed. But for as far as I could remember, it was always so...

"_Faramir!" Boromir said exultantly. "You've done wonderfully!"_

"_It is your name that people chant in our city," I smiled wanly. "Now your name is immortalized."_

"_Nay, my brother, do not let our father's words cloud your glory," my brother grinned. "Come, we must meet him."_

_For some reason, my heart grew heavy at the mention of my father. Would I never receive his approval? My brother was always the glorious one, the man worthy of being called king even though he was of the Line of Stewards. And I? A mere Ranger, secretive, learned in lore and music, an archer and a skilled swordsman, but I still dealt with secrecy. Cowardice.  
_

_My father watched us proudly walk to him in the Tower of Ecthelion. Boromir, ever dramatic, swept aside his cloak. "M'Lord, we have won back Osgiliath." I kneeled alongside my brother. My father watched us, his eyes warming at the sight of his elder son, proud and in the height of his fame._

"_I've heard your name all the way from the first circle of the City," Denethor said proudly, standing up and walking towards my brother. My brother rose and embraced my father. I stood up uncertainly. _

"_You must have heard Faramir's name as well. He fought as valiantly as I," Boromir said helpfully. Or he thought it was helpful. I would rather disappear into Mordor than face my father's coolness. He raised his silver eyes to mine._

"_Nay. I have not."  
_

My horse's hooves clip-clopped under me. Women and children threw flowers onto the street. They were crushed under our hooves.

"Faramir! Do not throw away your life so rashly!" Mithrandir pushed his way through the crowd and cried out to me.

"I do as my lord bid." I said grimly, looking ahead to the tall gates of the city I loved.

"Your father loves you," Mithrandir said softly, so only I could hear. "He will remember it in the end."

Nay, he would not. He blamed me for my mother's death. Of reminding her of her family, near the sea. I made her read aloud stories of the sea. She told me stories of the ocean and her family. She withered like a fair flower in winter. So fair, so warm to us till the end.

And Boromir replaced her at the end. He was my comfort. He cried with me at my mother's death, he comforted me against the barbs of my father's words. He shielded me from my father, listing my exploits as if I was Beren One-Handed before my father. And in turn, I revered him. I was willing to listen to him at any time, when he came to me troubled by dreams and rebellious soldiers. Until the dream called him away. No one could protect me from Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I yearned for his approval, but no longer did I fear his hatred. I merely carried out his orders. Perhaps, he would approve. Perhaps, he would welcome me like he welcomed Boromir.

As an Ithilien Ranger, I was in exile. But at least, I was free to forget.

But now, as I lead these men to their death, I mourned and I could not help but cry out silently for my family.

Boromir! What did the Lady tell you? The Lady that dies not? You will never return by land or by the Anduin; what did she tell you? Alas! Frodo increased my grief so much.

The horses bore us out of the city. They walked steadily, snorting excitedly as the smell of battle reached them. Everyone around me drew out their swords, and I followed.

"Gondor!" I cried, pointing my sword defiantly at the foul Orcs.

"Gondor!" I was echoed across the line of soldiers.

"For the Lord Faramir," one soldier cried. I smiled wanly as it was echoed across the line. For me?

The soldiers cried out for Minas Tirith, for the Lord Denethor…And then we clashed. Orc arrows poured on us; I slashed through.

It was a blinding fight. I barely registered my enemies, but I felled many. Yet it was no use. As I was battling a Southorner, an arrow pierced my shoulder and I fell off my horse. Darkness took me and I slept. Peacefully. Death had taken me and I was glad.

* * *

I woke up wearily and saw a face I knew well. I had never met the man before, but Denethor had many paintings of him left over from my grandfather's rule, when Thorongil was greatly honored. Thorongil. I had been called back.

"My Lord. You have called me. I come. What does the king command?" I asked weakly.

"Rest," Thorongil said quietly. "Later, I will give you duties, but for now, rest!" I lay in bed as he left, feeling life pouring into me again. Athelas stole through the air. And memories of Boromir telling of Thorongil poured to me again.

"_Thorongil is a valiant captain!" Boromir said dramatically, waving a small knife around. "He is willing to sacrifice his life for Gondor!" Then, Boromir took the knife and pretended to stab himself, swooning. Faramir snorted and pulled his brother up._

"_I swear, Brother, even though you are sixteen and I eleven, I act older than you." Boromir smiled._

"_Little brother, but you have never seen him! You were not born yet even. I saw him shortly before he left. Tall, dark hair, and grey eyes that were astute judges of men. All rallied around him! And his blade was unmatched in battle. I would have followed him to the end. He was worthy to be called King of Gondor, if he was the Heir of Isildur."_

Boromir did follow him to the end. Yes, he did. Perhaps, my father will never approve of me. He won't. And it will always torment me, but I must remember that others approved of me. My mother, my brother, the men under me…

Perhaps the new King of Gondor.

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AN: Review? 


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